


The Devil I Know

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [5]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur tries to move on as Lancelot fulfills the destiny he never wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil I Know

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my Live By The Sword 'verse. I wrote this stuff out of order, and am posting it that way. This is modern day AU - Arthur is a cop, and Lancelot is the heir to a large crime syndicate. All lyrics from Beck's CD Guero.

_Straight down out of the world with my fingers holding onto the devil I know_

Lancelot and Guinevere’s father’s funeral was a huge affair. Black suits, somber hats, big sunglasses. Lots of stretch limos. The press were having a field day with it; the police were out in force in riot gear.

 

It wasn’t every day that someone of Roland Benoit’s caliber died. 

 

Arthur stood at the back of the church; the smell of myhrr making him dizzy and bringing back old memories from childhood of his parents that he didn’t want brought up.

 

His eyes traveled up and down the rows – there an ex president, here a member of parliament. The man had been very well known. And a disgusting human being in Arthur’s book.

 

Roland had been an absentee father, a ruthless businessman, and above all, absolutely devout in his desire that Lancelot be groomed to take over the business when Roland died.

 

The idea of a ‘mob’ family in this day and age still boggled Arthur’s mind. Life in Los Angeles was mostly dominated by the riots and police actions; fires and mudslides and the almost monthly earthquakes were commonplace occurances. The fact that the Benoit’s had made a living off other people’s suffering for decades drove him mad.

 

But then Arthur had met Lancelot and Guinevere. And had fallen hopelessly for the younger man, his family be damned.

 

Too bad it wasn’t that easy. Never had been, never would be.

 

The service was coming to an end; Arthur knew they would then procede to Lawndale Memorial Cemetary and have the burial. He also knew he wouldn’t be attending that. It had only been a week or so since he had gone at Gwen’s behest to see Lance at the club; that had been painful enough. Arthur was hoping to escape to his car quickly and make it to the coffeeshop around the corner from his loft to study.

 

His newly minted badge was around his neck on it’s thong; the brass wanted all cops to wear them out just in case any thing happened, so they would have ID. Arthur scoffed at that, but he did what was requested of him. He respected his bosses and only commented when some suggestion was made that he though might cause harm to someone.

 

He was still honing his firearms skills; his captain wanted him to get every license possible, it seemed. Arthur was drowning in work, but he loved it like nothing he’d ever done before.

 

The only thing that made it not so wonderful was the fact he wasn’t speaking to Lancelot currently. Not really. Not civilly, at any rate.

 

Arthur sighed as he watched the gaudy casket containing Roland Benoit’s earthly remains make it’s way toward the front of the church. He could see Gwen and Lancelot at the front with their stepmother, Morgause. She was weeping pitiously and wailing like she had lost her credit account at Nordstrom.

 

Arthur knew that was a horrible thought to have, but when it came to the Benoits, not too many thoughts like that were untrue. He pulled his sunglasses out his pocket, slipped them on, and snuck out of the drafty building.

 

*

 

The Coffee Bean that was near his loft was generally always packed, and tonight was no exception. Arthur thought for sure that the hipsters that frequented the place should have some other things to do on a Saturday night, but he guessed not after seeing the sheer number of them filling the places’ small seating area.

 

He managed to snag a little table tucked into the corner by a window, and booted up his computer as he took his first sip of espresso.

 

He let loose a little laugh and looked at his tiny ceramic cup. He had been a straight up black coffee drinker until Lance had converted him to Italian Roast. 

 

Arthur then frowned; he had sworn he wouldn’t think of the other man. He had only gone to the funeral out of … respect? Obligation? He wasn’t sure. He had a tiny inkling that it might have been to even just see Lancelot, but…no.

 

He shook his head slightly, drank some more caffeine, and connected to the site he was looking for. His rumpled sweats and red Chucks helped make him comfortable enough to forget his confusion for a while – and allow himself to get swept away by his work.

 

A few hours later he was still buried in his computer when the roar of an overly loud car engine dragged his attention away from the blue LED screen. He blinked, looking out of the window he was next to, and swore softly.

 

The top was down on the car, all black metal and chrome, the driver leaping over the closed door, his dark shirt and leather pants making him stand out as he breezed through the door of the Coffee Bean. Not like he wouldn’t anyway.

 

_I prayed heaven today would bring its hammer down on me and pound you out of my head_

 

The chocolate eyes roved around the room; Arthur sunk lower in his chair and prayed to stay unnoticed. With his glasses on and messy clothing, he might be lucky enough to – damn it.

 

Lance swaggered over toward him, pulling out the free chair and sitting on it backward. Sitting like that made his pants pull tight over his body, and Arthur had to swallow hard before he could look the other man in the eyes.

 

“Saw you at the shindig today,” he said by way of greeting. “You think Roland would have approved?” He smirked once, shoving a hand through his sweaty hair and taking a gulp of Arthur’s second cup of espresso.

 

Arthur frowned; the stuff wasn’t cheap. He pushed his glasses up on top of his head. “What are you doing here?”

 

Lancelot sighed sufferingly. “Nice acknowledgment, my Arthur. What are you doing here?”

 

Arthur didn’t ignore the fact that Lance had used a possesive word when referring to him. He also didn’t ignore the fact that the man seemed to be drunk off his ass. How he managed to drive was beyond Arthur.

 

“I’m studying. I live around the corner. What’s your excuse?” He knew he was being snippy, but he didn’t care. He was angry and frustrated and suddenly so desperately horny he had to drop his jacket onto his lap. The other man could turn him on with a word, a glance, or just being close enough to Arthur for him to be able to catch a whiff of Lancelot’s cologne and sweat.

 

_Shit shit fuck damn. Will not let him know he’s getting to me. But then again, he probably already knows._

 

With a force of will he didn’t know he had, Arthur turned his anger into himself and allowed it to disappate; he’d deal with it later. He turned calmer eyes on Lance.

 

“Sorry. How was the rest of the service?”

 

“A total circus. Morgause was a drama queen the entire time, and Gwen didn’t say a word for … I think four hours, until she had downed half a bottle of chianti and cried in the corner for the rest of the day.”

 

Arthur winced at the image; he truly did love Lancelot’s sister. As much as Lancelot loved her as well, he wasn’t the best caretaker. So Arthur had always felt he needed to give her special consideration. He made a mental note to call her as soon as he could.

 

Lancelot grinned again, but Arthur knew the other man was feeling – not himself. His eyes were bloodshot, although Arthur wasn’t sure if that was from the booze or from crying. 

 

“You all right?”

 

Lancelot laughed, and took another swig of Arthur’s coffee. The sound was brittle and hurt Arthur’s heart. “Fine. You want to get out of here?”

 

Arthur knew that it was a bad idea for him to go anywhere with the other man, especially in his current state of emotional upheaval and drunkeness.

 

But he couldn’t say no. Not to Lancelot. Not when he was –

 

“Arthur. Yes or no?”

 

Fuck.

 

Arthur shut his laptop, and stood, his body under his control again. “Let’s go.”

 

*

 

_what’s left of death is more than fear let dust be dust_

 

The wind buzzed through their hair as the black Thunderbird roared through the winding hills above Los Angeles.

 

Lancelot’s dark curls whipped around his face, and Arthur knew the other man was upset because he had actually given Arthur the keys to his car without arguing.

 

“Turn! Here,” Lancelot shouted over the road noise, and Arthur did, executing a nice left that only burned a little rubber. The sky was purple still, reminding Arthur of a large and painful bruise.

 

Reminding him of how he felt at that moment. A giant bruise was an apt analogy.

 

The car came to a stop, and they sat quietly, listening to the engine ticking. The dust from the gravel road floated around them, and Arthur stared at the clouds for a moment while waiting for Lancelot to do whatever it was he wanted to do.

 

“You know we’re reinacting Romeo and Juliet, right?” the younger man finally said. He was somber; some of the drink had worn off. He slung an arm over the back of the seat, turning to face Arthur, his foot slipping under the opposite knee. He gave Arthur big puppy eyes, and Arthur sighed. He didn’t know whether or not Lance knew he was doing that – or just did it out of habit.

 

“You’re doing the big eye thing again,” he stated, “and what do you mean Romeo and Juliet?”

 

Lancelot adjusted his cufflinks; Arthur noticed they were the solid platinum ones Roland used to wear that were marked with the initial B. 

 

“I mean, Arthur, we’re being melodramatic about all this. You can’t see me, I can’t see you, my family wants me to have nothing to do with you, etcetera. It’d ridiculous.” He stopped fiddling with his shirt, and began to run fingers over his pant leg.

 

Arthur just stared at Lance for a moment. “Are you joking? You wouldn’t see me for months when they first gave you the command,” he put emphasis on the word; he could see Lancelot flinch, but he didn’t care. The man was full of gall. “You have the nerve to tell me we’re both doing this? I know I was the one to pull away first,” Arthur admitted, “but I did it because you were constantly on edge. I don’t want to sneak around, Lancelot,” he said, deadly serious, using the man’s full name, “I can’t. My life is starting to get comfortable – work is going really well, and it’s rewarding like nothing I’ve ever been involved in. I want – I wanted you there. The first thing I think of every day when I get home is how I want to tell you what’s been happening; to see your reaction and hear your thoughts about it. But I can’t…because you’re not there. You turned into something that wasn’t you. And I couldn’t watch it.”

 

_I couldn’t watch you become someone I hated._

 

“What was I supposed to do, Arthur?” Lancelot answered, his eyes narrowed, his hands finally stilling. “Hang around you even though you obviously couldn’t deal with me? Love you and be shunted aside because I wasn’t ‘handling’ my family’s requests well?”

 

He laughed sharply, and again Arthur felt that twinge in his heart that woke up his guilt – it was there behind his eyes quickly, drooling for more. He hated it.

 

“I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to stay with you – but I wanted to obey their wishes as well. My whole life I’ve been told I was going to be this one thing,” Lancelot continued, his eyes widening again, voice quiet, watching Arthur, “and the only person who’s ever told me that I didn’t have to do what I was expected to do left me. Because I didn’t know how to even start to be something new. I needed you to help me do that, Arthur. And you left me alone.” He dropped his head, and began the hand tics again.

 

Arthur twitched a bit, his hands feeling like blocks of ice. Lancelot had never, in the twenty odd years Arthur had known him, been open like this. Had he been, things might have gone better.

 

He shivered, and looked up at the now almost black sky. The espresso he had drunk was starting to give him acid problems – the conversation he was currently having not helping either.

 

_And the sky is burning in my rearview mirror_

 

“I wish I knew what to tell you,” he replied quietly at last. “Nothing’s ever easy for us, it seems.” That was an understatement, and a totally inadequate description of what he felt about their relationship.

 

A helicopter buzzed overhead, and they both followed it with their eyes. Lancelot’s hair flew around his head, some of it sticking to his lips. Arthur reached over without thinking and pushed the few strands back to where they were supposed to go, then froze with his hand in the other man’s hair.

 

They both sighed, and Lance slid a little closer on the bench seat. “Arthur,” he said at last, “what do you wish?” His voice was solemn, and sounded so much like his father’s it unnerved Arthur enough that his lips opened and closed twice before he got words out.

 

“I wish that I could love you with no strings involved,” he answered. “I wish that we could just be together and you could be the person I thought I knew almost better than myself. I wish you could be happy with a quiet, simple life away from your family – and I wish you could accept the potential there is in you.”

 

The wide eyes of his friend got even wider, and sparkled in the dim light. Lancelot’s hands trembled where they rested on Arthur’s leg, and he leant forward, catching Arthur’s lips in a soft kiss that broke through Arthur’s reserve and inner rule for absolutely no contact – and he kissed back helplessly. His hand threaded itself deeper into Lancelot’s hair, and his free arm went around the other man’s back, tugging him quickly into Arthur’s lap.

 

Lance for his part was trying to help by crawling onto Arthur, pushing him backward against the car door, laughing once when Arthur’s elbow hit the horn, making them both jump.

 

His shaking hands pushed Arthur’s knees apart so he could get closer to the other man, and they both let out a gasp as his hand accidentally brushed Arthur’s crotch. “Sorry,” Lancelot mumbled onto Arthur’s lips, but he realized it was a little late to be sorry. And truth be told he wasn’t.

 

“You infuriate me,” Arthur whispered harshly, “but _fuck_ I’m addicted to you. No matter what stupid things you do or say. God, Lancelot!” he added, angry at himself and at the situation. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

 

“Because,” the other man answered, clutching at Arthur, curling against him like a cat, “we fit.”

 

Arthur’s eyes closed; he shook his head silently, knowing the other man was right. They did. They were two incomplete people without each other. Arthur’s insides could always feel when Lancelot was around – or when he wasn’t. As cliched as it was, Arthur believed the idea with all his soul. No matter how much it depressed or annoyed him.

 

Lance’s mouth was nipping a hot line up Arthur’s jugular, his tongue bathing Arthur’s pulse, his teeth taking little bites that Arthur knew would show as bruises in the morning. Arthur groaned, and pulled the other man by the hair to kiss him again, lips opening and absorbing the taste and feel of Lancelot like he might never again. The flavor of alcohol was strong, along with the fundamental scent that Arthur would never forget no matter how long they were apart.

 

The younger man’s hand crept down to Arthur’s sweats again, his long fingers tickling the skin below Arthur’s belly button.

 

Arthur sucked in a harsh breath, his eyes flying open. “Don’t,” he said, his voice and eyes raw. Lancelot merely kissed him again, then ducked his head down toward the seats.

 

“Lance, don’t, please,” Arthur begged, “please don- ah, shit.”

 

Wet heat and sensation surrounded his flesh and the back of his skull knocked against the edge of the car window. Luckily the top was down – so he only hurt it slightly.

 

“Please,” Arthur gritted, trying to jerk Lancelot’s head away from his cock by the hair. He only succeeded in dragging the other man’s mouth up his flesh in a hurry, his nerves liking the feeling way too much. “Lancelot, don’t,” he repeated, his voice breaking, tears rushing to his eyes. He would never be able to get over the other man now.

 

His hand tore at Lance’s brown curls, the free one scraping short nails along the shoulder that was exposed, the dark shirt pulled open due to the (not surprising) fact it was halfway unbuttoned and Lance’s strange position in the car.

 

The younger man made some sort of humming sound against Arthur’s cock, and he almost lost it then – but Lancelot stopped quickly and slowed his motions, his hand following his mouth, his teeth and tongue waking feelings in Arthur that Arthur had never even been able to create by himself. It was as if every blood vesel, every physical need was concentrated in one hot throbbing spot.

 

Lance’s hand moved from Arthur’s cock to the skin of his inner thigh, tracing a small circle there, and Arthur’s fingers clenched in the other man’s hair. He tried to warn Lancelot – but it hit him too hard and fast.

 

He managed to breathe Lancelot’s name as his climax washed over him, intense and almost painful. He saw nothing, felt nothing but the brown irises that locked onto his green ones. They expanded and filled his entire world.

 

At last his body allowed him to relax, and he began to be able to sense his surroundings again, his flesh still hard and covered by Lancelot’s mouth. The other man drew his tongue up Arthur’s cock, and rose, swallowing thickly.

 

Arthur’s legs flopped out onto the seat, and Lance buried himself in Arthur’s chest, his arms squeezing tightly, his head tucked under Arthur’s chin.

 

“See? I can still make you want me,” Lancelot whispered. Arthur didn’t reply, his own hand soothing small motions up and down the line of Lance’s spine. 

 

That might have been the worst and most desperate thing he’d ever heard the other man say. It ripped him in two and left him trembling and cold.

 

“You never have to make me want you,” Arthur whispered back, “I will want you til I’m dead.”

 

Lance barked a laugh, sounding more like a sob, and raised his head, meeting Arthur’s heated gaze. “You have a funny way of showing it.” His mouth was red and swollen, and Arthur moved the inch that seperated them, kissing him lightly, gently, openly. He could taste himself and Lancelot; his eyes burned again at the familiar essence.

 

“There’s no way to work this out, is there?” Lance said quietly. It really wasn’t a question. Arthur didn’t reply right away; he was wracking his brain, trying so hard to come up with a way…any way for them to figure something out.

 

Compromise didn’t really run in either of their vocabularies. And the dark, dangerous truth be told…Arthur knew that it would be good, great even for the first few weeks – then Lancelot would find some reason to see his family, or his stepmother, and the man that he held in his arms would go someplace far away again, the only thing left the hardened child that would take the good person’s place.

 

Arthur didn’t know how to fix that. He prayed every day for the insight, the solution. It never came.

 

Until it did – he had to continue on the way he had been.

 

So he replied with the only words he could say that wouldn’t crush Lancelot forever.

 

“I love you,” he ghosted over the top of the other man’s hair, “whatever comes between us – never forget that.”

 

Lancelot shut his eyes, his face in Arthur’s shirt. “What if I do?”

 

And again –

 

Arthur had no good answer for that.

 

_The good in us is all we know there’s too much left to taste that’s bitter_


End file.
